


Master of Arts

by Vera_dAuriac



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, Oral Sex, Pre-Series, Secret Identity, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 04:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12927888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_dAuriac/pseuds/Vera_dAuriac
Summary: Milady can't get close to Athos, so she decides to get close to his friends...however she can.





	Master of Arts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady1313](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady1313/gifts).



> For the magical and wonderful Lady Mac. You deserve all the very best. Merry Christmas.
> 
> Oh, and the usual nonsense copyright disclaimer.

**By Vera d'Auriac**

 

Milady knew she could be most helpful to the Cardinal if she did two contradictory things—buried Anne and learned every single thing she could about Athos’s life since he left Anne to die nearly five years before. She thought she had done reasonably well replacing conniving Anne with revengeful Milady de Winter. But the other….

Athos’s life with the Musketeers still confused her. He’d never been particularly martial, although his swordsmanship had been praised as long as she had known him. And he had never had close relationships, not even with Thomas, who he _thought_ he was close to. She often wondered if her accusation that Thomas tried to rape her even bothered Athos. Did he care his brother might be a rapist and he had known Thomas so little he hadn’t seen it coming? Or did Athos sleep soundly at night, confident his wife was a lying murderess? Probably the latter.

Obviously, she couldn’t get too close to Athos in a literal way. He presumed her dead, and she could best serve the Cardinal if it remained so. But she could get close to his friends. She’d played cards with Porthos and let him cheat her of the spare change she’d wheedled out of the Cardinal for the very purpose. Now she would allow Aramis to seduce her.

After performing one final adjustment to her especially low-cut bodice, Milady turned the corner to Madame de Chevreuse’s home. Tonight she was hosting a lively salon, and Milady had been invited by Ninon, a delightfully useful woman the Cardinal had encouraged her to cultivate. The rumor around Paris was that these salons, which unlike Ninon’s included men as well as women, provided a fertile hunting ground for the notorious Aramis. Milady had seen him before, and while he was handsome, she did not understand the appeal. For instance, Athos might not be as traditionally handsome, but he at least possessed a fascinating air that would still be there when the lights went out. Of course, Aramis had been described to her as charming, but frankly, she would take brains over charm any day.

Milady smiled at the door, mentioned Ninon’s name, and was given entry. The salon was already well under way, as she had hoped, not wanting to risk sticking out in a sparsely peopled room. She smiled as prettily as she knew how at everyone she passed. Exchanged a pleasantry or two with women she knew from Ninon’s. And she slowly worked her way through the crowd until she stood on the edge of a group of five women surrounding the Musketeer. He sat there comfortably, clearly used to a crowd of adoring women. His wavy hair looked as though it had not seen a comb in a week, but when she tried to envision it neat and tidy, she could understand why he kept it this way. The pale purple lace of his collar was as fine as anything she would ever wear, and the leather wrapping the rest of his body, while worn, fit quite nicely. He straddled belonging in a Paris salon or a barracks with an ease that women who appreciated a hint of danger and action in a man would find attractive.

“Well, of course the poem is lovely in translation, but it really sings in Latin, and you can’t appreciate it any other way. Do you know any of it? Let me recite a bit.” All of the women sighed audibly, as Aramis launched into his recitation. Milady, on the other hand, had to turn her face toward the wall so she could roll her eyes in safety.

The few lines Aramis rattled off were from a poem she had heard before. But the listening women were either clueless or feigning ignorance, because they all applauded enthusiastically as though something extraordinary had just been revealed to them. One of them even said, “That is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. You have a voice made for poetry.”

The women all giggled and Aramis demurred. “Oh, it is nothing. I was made to memorize and recite poetry as a boy. It is a skill that if you learn early, anyone can master.”

Milady already didn’t like him. Arrogant bastards like him drove her mad. What he’d said was absolutely true, and yet he had managed to make the self-deprecating statement in such a way that he made himself sound uniquely wonderful. She questioned whether or not she could go through with actually bedding him. Maybe knowing what a pompous philanderer he was told her everything she needed to know about him. Then again, it had taken hours of card playing with Porthos to understand why he cheated, which was far more useful than merely knowing that he did cheat. Milady took a deep breath and told herself to stay on task.

“And you, mademoiselle, what do you think of Italian poetry?”

It took Milady several seconds to realize Aramis was addressing her. She straightened up, realizing she had better make use of this opportunity. “Oh, I haven’t been a mademoiselle in a very long time.” She snapped her fan open in front of her face to hide a flattered smile that wasn’t there. “It’s Madame de la Chapelle.” She artfully dipped her fan and extended her free hand to him. Aramis rose, cradled her hand, and kissed it.

“A pleasure to meet you. I am Aramis of the King’s Musketeers. And an amateur scholar of poetry. Do you like poetry, Madame?”

“Oh, it is not a topic I have given much thought, but I would love to hear what you have to say on the topic.”

He grinned, happy to have a new, pretty woman listening to his nonsense. As he droned on, she had trouble concentrating. The fact of the matter was she had no interest in poetry, and generally when she had time to read, she picked up lexicons and the _Gazette_ so she might understand and know the people the Cardinal had her spying on and killing. But after she offered Aramis nothing but polite smiles, he began to focus his attention on a petite blonde sitting next to him.

“I’m sorry,” the simpering girl said, “can you explain the structure of that poem again? I didn’t quite understand.”

Milady slid herself onto the edge of the windowsill between Aramis and the girl. “It’s really quite simple,” Milady said, and then she went on to explain the basic construction of the poem. She guessed the girl was merely pretending to not understand in order to hold Aramis’s attention (the structure wasn’t that difficult). But Milady would be damned if she’d allow the girl to monopolize Aramis’s attention any longer.

When she finished explaining, Milady glanced at Aramis. She was about to drop her eyes and say something silly, like, “At least I think it might be something like that,” but Aramis’s reaction surprised her. And quite favorably, too. Rather than looking put out by her interruption or intimidated by her mind, he appeared impressed. Milady began to think that perhaps he wasn’t as shallow as first glance had made her suppose.

“I thought you were not a poetry lover,” Aramis pointed out with a smirk.

“I’m generally not, but you explained it so well it made me appreciate the form.”

Milady was reasonably sure he knew she had just bullshitted him, but the fact only seemed to make him more interested in her. All she had to do now was add an occasional clever remark when he spoke too long with any one admirer and keep an eye open for a chance to get him away into one of Madame de Chevreuse's famous dark corners.

It only took about another fifteen minutes. One of the women fawning over him as though he were a genuine scholar was so impossibly stupid that even Aramis seemed at a loss for how to politely explain the fundamentals of Latin grammar to her. Milady saw that this particular conversational grouping had run its course and now was her time.

“If you will pardon me,” she said, rising, “I’ve been led to believe there are some marvelous portraits in the house. It would be a shame not to see them while I am here.” As she pushed her way out of the circle, the other women nodded politely. When she looked back at Aramis, his rich brown eyes bore into her. She paused to give him a second to realize how much he would miss her company, and left.

At the far side of the parlor there really was a hallway she had been told about by Ninon, which reputedly held some of the finest contemporary French portraits. She knew a bit more about painting than she did poetry, because with a little study, art theft could be extremely profitable, unlike poetry. These portraits, however, were a sad disappointment. There was nothing here worth the risk. But this fact profited her. While some people spoke well of the collection, no one had bothered to light the hallway enough to see them well tonight, and therefore, no one else was viewing them when Aramis joined her.

“What do you think of them?” he asked, stopping closer than propriety dictated.

“Pedestrian,” she said honestly. “Very good student works, but nothing inspired.”

“Are you always such a harsh critic?”

She chuckled. “Without exception. Why? Is there something you would like me to judge?”

Aramis took her arm and pushed her to the far side of a pillar holding a bust. She let him do so, becoming pliant when he pinned her to the wall. Did nothing to fight him when he kissed her.

It was a good kiss, unsurprisingly if he’d had half the practice popular rumor attributed to him. But it was also ever changing, as though he wanted to know what kind of kiss she wanted. Perhaps there was more to Aramis, the charmer and lover, than she had suspected. In fact, she may have found herself caught up in the moment, lacing her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

When he ended the kiss, he stayed near her, panting slightly. “So, how was that? Pedestrian? Like a school boy?”

She twisted her lips into an almost grin. “I’m uncertain how to accurately describe it. Perhaps you should show me once more.”

With a hand on her shoulder, Aramis led her farther down the dim hallway before stopping at a spot along the wall that looked like any other. But he reached behind another pillar and clicked open a hidden door. “We can perform a more thorough examination in here.”

She went in, wondering what exactly they had stumbled upon. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she realized it was a broom closet. As long as no cleaning emergency arose, they should remain uninterrupted. And she should find out just what made Aramis the man he was, a man, apparently admired by Athos. Aramis pushed himself up behind her and pressed his lips to the spot just behind her ear.

“There’s usually a candle in here somewhere,” he said, dragging his lips along her neck. “I could try to find it, or we could just feel our way.” To illustrate his point, his hands, which had been resting on her hips, started to roam, one going up and the other down.

She had to admit the idea of groping together in the dark had its charms. However, she could likely learn more about Aramis’s character if she could see him in this intimate moment. “I’m not entirely sure I can accurately assess your work in the dark.”

He purred, his right hand lightly brushing over her nipple before resting on the tops of her breasts pushing out of her bodice. “I will not argue at having the opportunity to look on such an exquisite woman.” After flicking his tongue along to top of her spine, he let her go. She heard a drawer open and a flint strike, and in a moment, a candle burned a top the one small table in the closet.

She looked around the cramped space for a convenient spot to do what they had come here to do. Aramis, with his familiarity with the space, managed the task first, however. He reach around her and shoved the brooms leaning against the wall into the corner, maneuvered her into the open space by pressing against her back. She braced herself on the wall and he slotted his erection into the small of her back and rubbed.

He hummed and resumed kissing her neck. He moved so well that the obvious preview he was giving her served its intended purpose of making her want more. She pushed back against him and turned her face in profile so that he might stretch around and claim her mouth with his own.

After a slow, open kiss, she dropped her lips from his. “In my judgment, I think you show a great deal of promise.”

“I have a great deal to show you. The only question is where to begin.”

Milady spun around and leaned her back against the wall, just inviting him to touch her. Naturally, he could not resist, his fingers wandering from the ribbon around her throat, down her chest, over her stomach, probing between her legs. “Let’s be honest," she purred. "We’re in a closet and there are a hundred people in the other room. You may not have the luxury of time to show me all of your arts. So don’t tease what you have to offer—impress me now.”

He lined his body up against her, kissed her hard, taking her at her word not to waste time. His fingers, dexterous even in their gloves, began gathering up her skirts while he showed real reluctance to end the kiss. Honestly, she was in no hurry for it to end. He didn’t just kiss—he made love to her mouth, his soft lips and strong tongue opening her up.

And when she thought of it that way, what he chose to do in order to impress her didn’t surprise her in the least. Aramis dropped to his knees in front of her, threw her skirts over his head, and dove under.

Given the angle, he managed quite well, especially when he employed those fingers still encased in soft leather gloves. But this was never going to impress her as much as she had been hoping. She gave him some time to figure this out on his own, but finally she said, “May I make a suggestion?”

Aramis resurfaced and spun on his knees to the candle on the table. He blew it out—not that it had been doing her any good as far as seeing him, since he had been buried under her clothes. Based on the clatter, he dropped it on the floor, then he took her hands and pulled her over to the table. She hopped up on her own. “I see you anticipated me,” she said.

“It would not be particularly impressive if I did not.” Without another word, he crawled back under her skirts, and this time that clever tongue of his found precisely what it was searching for.

Of course, he had to find some way in which to tease her, if only a little. After proving he could find his target, he licked her everywhere else but there. He flicked his tongue around the outside of her cunt. Then he literally fucked her with it. He even went to the very bottom of her cunt and hinted how much farther he might go with his mouth. She groaned in excited frustration and grabbed his hair through her skirts.

“Enough,” she panted. “You know what in the hell I want.”

The bastard chuckled, but then his tongue pressed gently against her clit and she couldn’t contain a moan. His gloved hand brushed her thigh, and in a moment she felt a thick finger enter her as his tongue picked up speed over and around her clit. Her hips shuddered and she couldn’t keep still. Aramis, though, kept up with her every gyration, his tongue never leaving the spot where she needed it.

“Oh, fuck, Aramis. Oh God. Yes, that’s…perfect. Fuck. Yes!” She gripped his hair even tighter, and she shoved her other hand in her mouth to stifle her screams. He actually sucked her clit through her climax, not leaving her for a moment, until she ripped him off, unable to stand the sensitivity another second.

Milady panted, but she stopped the whimper that nearly surfaced in her throat. She fell back limp against the wall and tried to gather her thoughts. What exactly had just happened? She had intended to allow Aramis to seduce her, but she had never planned to enjoy it so much. And hadn’t she done this in order to find out more about Athos’s character? Had she learned anything other than Aramis was every bit as skilled as she had heard?  She shook her head to clear it and realized that, yes, she had. Aramis, unlike so many other famous lovers, not only cared about pleasing the woman he was with, but put her pleasure above his own. If this translated to the rest of his character, Athos, selfish asshole, probably took advantage of this trait.

“So,” he asked, still under her skirts, kissing the inside of her thigh, “how did I do? Have I meet your rigorous standards?”

“Mm,” she purred. “I believe I may have to rate you a master.”

“And you haven’t even seen all of my work.”

Aramis crawled out and stood, pressed up against her. A trickle of light coming in at the top of the door allowed her to see him take a handkerchief from his pocket and dab at the corners of his mouth and smooth his beard. “Would you care to see more? I am rather eager to demonstrate other of my skills.”

She could feel his eagerness against her thigh. Much to her surprise, even though she had the information she wanted, as well as sexual satisfaction, she found herself inclined to say yes. But before she could assent in word or action, they heard two voices outside in the hall.

“I had so wanted you to meet Aramis,” said a woman’s voice Milady did not recognize. “I just can’t imagine where he’s gotten off to.”

“Oh, it’s really no trouble,” answered Ninon. “You’re a very kind hostess to worry about making such an introduction.”

“Oh, but Ninon, it rather is my job, dear.” This woman talking to Ninon must be none other than Madame de Chevreuse, and she added, rather more loudly, “Aramis always pops up again, eventually. Usually coming from the library with some new book of mine. I’m sure we just passed him when we checked there.”

“Perhaps. So, you were telling me about that new treatise….”

Ninon’s voice faded away, and Milady and Aramis started to breathe again. She thought he looked disappointed. Oddly enough, she found that she was as well.

Aramis sighed. “Another time, Madame de la Chapelle?”

She knew that there would be no other time, but she wanted a memory, and proof should blackmail ever prove useful, of this encounter. She plucked the gloves off his hands and placed them in the pocket of her skirt where she often carried a pistol. She smiled and slid off the table. “We can hope,” she said as she squeezed out the hidden door, leaving Aramis in darkness.


End file.
